March of the Penguin
by ScaryScarecrows
Summary: Oswald Cobblepot's rise to power will take time, effort, and no small amount of luck.
1. Hostage Situation

AN: So while Jonathan Crane celebrates that somebody else gets to suffer for a change (if he only knew…), _what the hell happened to Oswald's hostage from episode two? _Is he dead? Is he missing his eyes? Did he just leave him in the trailer to hope someone found him? Seeing as the poor bastard did laugh at his friend's 'penguin' comment…

* * *

><p>The boy took one panicked look at the knife and started hop-crawling as far into the closet as possible. Oh, what a child. A naughty little child, apparently. He couldn't imagine frightening his mother with a ruse like this.<p>

Speaking of Mother, he really had to get home soon. She'd be worried.

"Shh, shh. This will only hurt for a minute."

There was a panicked whimper from behind the duct tape, followed by what sounded like an attempt to speak. No. His time to talk was over, since he had failed to convince his own mother of his situation.

"This is your own fault, you know." he said, working his way down

_Oh, that BITCH will pay for this!_

and gripping his new friend's chin in one hand. "If you'd been better behaved, I wouldn't have to do this."

He was absolutely useless as ransom. Besides, there was money not so far away, in his landlord's house. Surely the man wouldn't mind helping a poor cripple

_Oh, she'll pay DEARLY._

who was down on his luck. If he did…well, he'd worry about that later. But for now, he couldn't risk anybody, not even this cretin, describing him. His landlord was risk enough…perhaps he'd grant him an early retirement.

Now, where was that spot…ah. Right there.

He drove the knife-pocket knife, not great, but it was better than nothing-through the soft flesh under the jaw and backwards until he felt it nick bone. Blood spurted onto his hand and clothes-so soon?-and the body he was clutching began to jerk. He removed the knife, resulting in more blood and…bits.

Shame. He'd almost liked this sweater.

He struggled up-he hated having to use the couch for support, but at least there were no witnesses to this-and dragged the still-twitching corpse further into the closet. There. Nice and out of the way. He didn't need to be tripping over that, not now.

Shame, though. There went his retainer.

Although…

Yes. The landlord was a liability, one he could ill-afford. He'd have to be got out of the way.

He dropped back onto his makeshift bed with a weary sigh. Later. He'd deal with the landlord later.

THE END


	2. Hired

AN: I don't know what happened, I swear. I didn't mean to. Anyways, meet Oswald's little henchgirl, Dove. (I couldn't help myself…) She really doesn't like him, but…paycheck. NO ROMANCE. EVER. Dove would poison him if she thought it would stick, but with her luck he'd survive and make her sorry. Or at least screw her over before dying.

* * *

><p>Dove Marquis had never had a day like this. It probably wasn't the worst day ever-no, that would be day she moved to this godforsaken town-but it was in her top five.<p>

She'd been minding her own business, debating on whether to grab a sandwich or a slice of pizza, when a really _nice_ car had driven up alongside her, the door had opened, and some guy in a nice suit that _barely_ covered an unnatural amount of muscles seized her arm and yanked her in.

She was lucky the bastard didn't dislocate her shoulder.

"I'm off the clock, asshole! Let me go right now or I'll-"

"Shut up."

Oh. He had a gun. Okay. Right. That changed things a little.

She remembered the street kid crisis-_that_ had been creepy-and wondered if there was going to be a hooker crisis now. Oh, god. What about Janine? Would she be okay? She was just a kid (stupid kid, ran away from home), what would she think when she got back to their apartment and Dove wasn't there?

Oh, hell no! If she was going to end up dismembered, she'd be damned sure to bite off something-ear, finger, dick-and make sure they caught the bastard before this got out of control.

The car stopped. Maybe she could run for it. Before she could really entertain the idea, the scary man with the gun and too much muscle gripped her upper arm and tugged her out of the car.

"Be good."

"Fuck you."

That earned her a sharp twist that nearly knocked her off her feet. Ow. Spots.

_I'm sorry, mama._

"Here ya are, boss."

"You didn't manhandle her, did you?" She couldn't see the speaker. He was in a chair that was turned away from her, but his voice made her skin crawl.

"Um…"

There was a low sigh.

"I told you to be gentle with our guest."

The chair turned. She didn't know what she'd been expecting, but this certainly wasn't it.

Quite frankly, the guy looked _weird_. Beaky nose, hair that looked wet but clearly wasn't, formal wear, _fangs_-exactly the kind of guy that probably couldn't get lucky and turned into Jack the Ripper as a result.

But at least maybe she could claw those piercing eyes out of his skull.

"Release her please, Mario."

_Mario_. She would file that name away in case she got out of this.

The bruising grip on her arm slackened and she jerked away from him. The man in the chair stood up, gripping an umbrella, and waddled over to them. Ouch. Somebody had taken a dislike to him-feet were not supposed to point that way. Somehow the waddle did nothing to make her feel safer.

"I don't think you'll be needed now, Mario."

"Okay, boss."

Okay. So big-and-ugly was going away. Maybe she could take this…this penguin man and make a break for it.

A door closed behind her and she shivered. It was freezing in here. Where were they, anyway, a warehouse?

Yup, some kind of warehouse by the docks-she could hear the commotion and smell the fish. Ugh. She'd always hated fish.

"Apologies for my associate." Could he just not speak? Was that possible? "I gave him instructions to invite you into the car, but…won't you sit down?"

Maybe she wasn't going to end up dismembered. Was he important? Maybe he was important and couldn't be seen asking for her services.

"Who the hell are you?"

He gave her a hideously false grin and settled back into his leather chair.

"My name is Oswald Cobblepot." Ouch. She could only imagine what teachers did when they came to his name on the roll call list. "I have an offer to make you."

Called it!

"Fifty for an hour." she grumbled. "But it's cold in here, would it kill you to check into a hotel?"

"Not that kind of offer, madam."

Madam! She was _not_ that old! Fuck it, services _denied_.

"Not interested."

"Oh, you will be." He leaned forward. "Can I get you anything? Tea, hot chocolate, a snack?"

Laced with roofies, no doubt.

"No."

"Suit yourself." She had never wanted out of anywhere as much as she wanted out of here. "I want to hire you on a permanent basis."

Huh.

"I don't understand."

"I need an errand runner, if you will, one that won't be so easily noticed. Or traced. You can gather information for me as well."

"That's not really in my job description…"

"I'm giving you a new job now. If you accept, of course."

"Are you some kind of mob guy?"

"In a manner of speaking."

"So you want a spy."

"I will need you to spend a lot of time in the theatre district."

"Why?"

"I'll explain if you accept the offer."

"You're paying me for this, right?"

He nodded.

"Of course. There is a bit of risk if you get caught, and I will not be coming to help you if that should happen."

Okay. That was fair. No one had ever helped her before, there was no reason for them to start now.

"How much?"

A small wad of bills landed in her lap.

"Will that be suitable for an advance?"

Oh, yeah.

"Yes."

"Good. You are to tell no one. As far as any old acquaintances are concerned, you disappeared."

_Farewell, Janine. May we meet again._

"That's fine."

Cobblepot stood up again and looked at her. She tried to maintain eye contact and failed miserably.

"We can't have you working for me looking like that."

"Sorry for being broke."

He gave her another strange smile. If her hair wasn't sticking up like an Anime character's, she'd be surprised.

"Mario will take you where you need to be. Make it subtle, but nice."

Soo…no crop tops? Thank god. They were cold and with the wrong jeans they gave her muffin top.

"Okay. How do I get in touch with you?"

"I'll take care of that."

O-kay, then. Weirdo.

All the same, easy money. She'd take it.

"Okay, then, um, Mr. Cobblepot. What do you want me to start with?"

"I'll let you know, Miss Marquis."

It was creepy that he knew her name, but she didn't really want to know _how_ he knew it.

THE END


	3. Stab

AN: Poor Oswald. You know he can't get a girlfriend to save his life (although his fangirl count seems to have skyrocketed…), but his mother will always have faith! That somehow makes it worse. It's almost like she accuses him of being out with a painted hussy to try to give him a confidence boost or something.

Tando-Most likely. Scary Scarecrows, destroyer of threads and dreams, at your service.

Well, now, that _is_ quite the compliment. Oswald is a royal pain to work with-and I primarily deal with Scarecrow who is (pun unintended) an absolute nightmare.

* * *

><p>She hates it when she comes in and finds him sitting in her apartment.<p>

She hates it even more when she comes in and finds him digging through her stuff. It isn't as though she's got anything to hide, but…come on.

"Mr. Cobblepot?"

"Gauze."

"What."

And then she notices that one hand is half-ass-wrapped in a handkerchief, which is now red and slightly drippy. Eww…come on. That's just not fair. Can't his mother deal with this?

"Gauze. You have some, surely."

"Yeah…"

"Go and get it."

Would it kill him to ask nicely?

"Your hand is bleeding."

"I _noticed_, Miss Marquis. Gauze. Now."

Christ, she's just trying to make conversation. Is that so wrong?

"Here."

She watches him struggle with it for a few minutes, certain that he'd deserved whatever happened and wishing she'd have been there to see it. Oh, well.

"Let me see." Ouch. What a lovely deep hole that is. "What was this?"

"A pin."

"A pin."

"Fish didn't appreciate my gesture of goodwill."

She could have told him that, but then he'd have bitched her out for being insolent. Or possibly worse.

"You should have told me."

"Why would I know?"

"You're a woman. What would you have done?"

Aimed either a lot lower or gone for the throat, but she could just be biased.

"There." It's not her neatest job, but she wasn't really trying. Hopefully this is that cheap, scratchy gauze. "All done."

He snatches his hand back as though she might chop it off. She's tempted, but he probably wouldn't make it easy on her if she did.

It sort of looks like a flipper now. That is not her fault, but hopefully he doesn't notice. If he does, she's going for the bad leg first.

Assuming he doesn't just shoot her…but he's so _fond_ of knives.

Psycho.

"My thanks." He doesn't sound like he means it. "Now my mother won't worry."

Yeah, about that. Couldn't she have done it? Surely she wouldn't have minded. Unless he doesn't really have a mother and is just nuts. That seems plausible. Creepy, but this _is_ Gotham.

"Sure." Hang on. "Is that perfume?"

He grins, that creepy clown-grin that he gets when he's really excited about something. Usually that something is a brutal murder, but as long as it's not hers, whatever.

"Falcone's little Liza is a mole." he reports. "For Fish."

Has anyone ever told him that this obsession with Fish is unhealthy?

"Ah."

"So you are going to be a mole for me."

WHAT.

"S-sir…"

"I need you to get a job. Waitress, dancer, I'm not picky. But get the late shift."

NO. She is not getting paid enough for this! Can't she quit? Or retire and move to Florida?

She's tempted to go and pour herself a nice, stiff drink, but that would involve turning her back to him.

_Why me?_

"M-Mr. Cobblepot, I…"

"Don't have a choice. I need you inside that building. If you're careful, nothing will happen to you."

Yeah, but sometimes careful isn't enough. Can't she do something else? Anything else! She'll seduce that big scary one-Butch or whatever his name is.

"I don't think…"

He opens his knife and she vaults out of the chair. All he does is take out a handkerchief and begin to polish it, but she gets the idea.

"It really is vital, Miss Marquis, that you do this for me."

Great. This is just great.

"Yes, Sir."

"Good girl." He puts the knife and handkerchief away, stands up, and pats her cheek. His hand is clammy and it's an effort not to pull away. "I don't care how you do it, just get it done."

Guess it's time to dig out those fishnets again.

And maybe write a will.

THE END


	4. Rubber Ducky, You're the One

AN: This has no order whatsoever. Fun fact: apparently overprotectiveness is common in bird mothers. Poor Oswald. He just can't escape the bird-ness. No wonder the guy's a psycho.

Tando-Oswald would be the worst 'bad boy' ever. He's too socially awkward. (Seriously, stabbing someone for comparing you to a penguin is...frowned upon.) And I'm not surprised, though I always found that 'attractive' villains were scarier. They could be that cute guy you were flirting with in the bank line.

* * *

><p>Heh. Rubber ducky.<p>

He presses on its head until it goes under and lets it pop back up amongst the bubbles. Its eyes have rubbed off and the orange beak has streaks of yellow showing through, but who cares? He always makes sure to hide it when bath time is over-he doesn't know why, he just does.

He wonders how Dove is coming along. Part of him wouldn't mind if she got found out and fired-or worse-but the sensible part of him hopes she's successful. Then the Plan may proceed.

Ah, the Plan…the one thing that kept him hitchhiking on that cold, grey road. It hadn't really been the Plan then-just badly thought out revenge against the **bitch** that had **dared **do this to him. But it had kept him from toppling over and giving up, at least until those kind souls had given him a ride.

He bats the ducky around in the bubbles for another few minutes before letting it drift towards the side of the tub. The bubbles are starting to disappear and the water is getting cold. Shame. The heat always does wonders for his leg.

He needs to pay Liza a little visit. Hopefully she'll be home this time-it isn't as though he _minds_ breaking in, but it's difficult and half-standing/half-kneeling to pick the lock about kills this dratted leg. How dare people not leave their spare key somewhere predictable, like under the mat!

He pats the ducky on the head and pulls the plug. Tomorrow he'll pay little Miss Liza a social call.

Maybe he'll bring her cannoli…

THE END


	5. Ashes, Ashes

AN: Takes place before Dove is…erm…requested…to gain a position at Fish Mooney's place. Still working out the audition for that, so you get this.

SwordStitcher-Yeah. You almost have to feel sorry for him. Almost. Until he murders some poor dishwasher, then that's sort of the end of that. And yeah, they are. I had one, once upon a time. The dog chewed the head off. It was quite tragic, actually.

Tando-Not on purpose, but we'll go with that. And I think he'll get there, in his own way, once a few more of the key players are gone. Who knows, though...but I'm guessing that Oswald-in-the-bath scenes are his version of 'would you like to see my mask?' and 'why so serious?'.

* * *

><p><em>Ow<em>.

Fucking assholes…only in Gotham can you be mugged in broad daylight. She should, she supposes, consider herself lucky that she wasn't raped.

_Goody._

She stumbles into her apartment-she could have sworn she locked the door-and is about to seek out a nice bottle of vodka when she catches sight of something that does not belong in this picture.

Namely, her employer.

"A little mischief seems to have befallen you, Miss Marquis."

The floor is swaying. She doesn't want to waltz.

"Once you've cleaned yourself up, perhaps we could…"

His voice trails off as she totters over towards him. She's okay, she's okay. Three more steps and she can sit down and report. The vodka can wait until she's alone and won't be judged for chugging it.

"Miss Marquis?"

"M'gonna hurl."

She does not hurl, thankfully, but she does pitch forwards.

Other, nicer, people would have caught her.

_Jim Gordon wouldn't have let me fall._

She doesn't work for any of them. Right before her vision goes, she _swears_ she sees the bastard step aside so that he won't encumber her descent.

Something tells her that Cobblepot failed the 'trust fall' exercise in sixth grade.

* * *

><p>She comes to still on the floor, still dressed in her bloody clothing-oh, it's going to be a nightmare to get off now-with a blanket tossed over her shoulders.<p>

"Boss, you shouldn't have."

He doesn't answer and she lifts her head. He isn't here, but she spots a note propped against a water bottle and a little travel tube of Aspirin.

_Kindly be cleaned up and coherent when I return._

Oh, she's touched. Truly.

She drags herself off the floor-cheap landlord, would it have killed him to install carpet?-and reminds herself that she hates everyone, ever. Except Ghandi, because only monsters hate Ghandi.

She ignores the Aspirin and the water-could be poisoned-and crawls to the bathroom. She was right-her clothes do not want to come off and she ends up soaking in a lukewarm bath to loosen them. The water only serves to remind her where every single injury is. Oh, oww. This'll teach her to dress in anything better than 'homeless druggie chic'.

The front door opens up and she makes a panicked lunge for the bathroom lock. She hits it just as _the voice_ calls out, "Miss Marquis?"

"I'm not decent!" She'd love to tell him to get out, but she did that before and got smacked with an umbrella. Who uses umbrellas as weapons, anyway?

"It's been nearly twelve hours."

Shit! She was out for that long? She could have a concussion! What are the signs for that again? Mismatched pupils…um…um…

Her pupils look normal. Good enough.

"I just woke up."

The doorknob rattles and she scrambles for a towel. Jeeze, would a little patience kill him? She's been mugged, for heaven's sake!

At least, she's pretty sure she was mugged. Maybe somebody found out who she works for and tried to send a message. Bah! Some message.

"Hang on!"

Oww. Too much noise. Too much light. Surely she had clothing in here _somewhere_…ah! Sweats. Screw it, he'd just have to deal.

"Sorry."

"You look a little the worse for wear."

Translation: nobody in their right mind would be seen in public with you.

_Right back atcha, Penguin._

"I was mugged."

"Fascinating."

She wishes he'd get out of the way. She'd like to sit down before she faceplants again.

"Um…"

"You haven't forgotten anything, have you? You have a rather sizeable lump on the back of your head."

How does he know this? Does she really want to know how he knows this?

No.

"No, Sir." The floor starts to move again and she straightens up. How dare it move? She won't have it! "I remember everything."

"Good."

He steps aside and she wonders if he was planning to drown her if she forgot. Or pour bleach down her throat or something equally horrible.

She collapses on the sofa and wonders if her face is as puffy as it feels. She pokes it, hears a soft _squish_, and decides that yes, it is.

Great.

"Feeling better?"

"Yes, Sir."

He folds his hands and she tries to rally a little.

"Falcone came to see her yesterday."

"Is that so?"

"Yes." What happened, exactly…? "I don't know exactly what happened, but he took one of her waiters with him when he left."

"Which one?"

She doesn't know their names! She's never been in-on his orders, she might add, so that's not her fault.

"Um…he was blonde, about five-eight, blue eyes…kind of pretty, actually."

"Angelo." Fitting name. "Very well. Was there anything else?"

"Not really…but a couple of cops showed up."

"Who."

"Harvey Bullock and someone I don't know." She doesn't like Bullock. He's arrested her twice-when she wasn't even doing anything, she might add!

"A young man?"

"No. Old. Stuffy-looking. British."

For once, he looks mildly puzzled. Good.

"Thank you, Miss Marquis. That's all, I think."

That wasn't so bad.

"Perhaps next time you'll stay out of the alleyways. Good afternoon."

Stay out of the-! She'd been yanked in!

No matter. He's gone. She can have that drink now.

THE END


	6. Present

AN: So somebody mentioned an in-character tweet from Robin Lord Taylor saying that Penguin now knew what to get Ed for Christmas. I checked…it's there…I'm now worried for Ed's future. Just because he can't be _killed_ doesn't mean that they can't _poison_ him. If it's not permanent, they can do whatever they want. Hear ye, hear ye-NO POISONING ED, OSWALD. OR ELSE. No definite time point. Happy holidays. I may continue this storyline…we'll see how sadistic I'm feeling.

Tando-I'm betting that if (when, you know it's when) he kills Fish, it'll be with his umbrella. Somehow. A stab through the eye, perhaps, or a modified sword-brolly.

* * *

><p>"Who is this for, again?"<p>

"Just ask for Edward Nygma."

Huh. What was with this town and weird-ass names?

"Why."

"Never you mind."

"Did he piss you off?" She inspected the basket. It did not seem to be ticking, and it had a fair amount of…cranberry muffins. Okay, then. "Are you trying to send a message or something?"

"Go. Deliver. It."

She waited until his back was turned to gently shake the basket. Was it a smuggling thingy? Maybe the muffins were poisoned!

"You don't want me to be a kiss-o-gram, do you?"

"Excuse me?"

She took that as a no. Good. She'd never wanted to be a kiss-o-gram. Although…maybe she should send one to him. He'd never have to know where it came from.

No, he'd know, and she'd be killed.

"Get going!"

He jabbed her in the ribs with that damn umbrella and she stepped back, rubbing the spot.

"Okay, okay! Sorry."

She was almost to the door when he gave her another jab, this time in the lower back.

She needed to get a better job.

* * *

><p>"I need to give this to Edward Nygma…"<p>

"I'll take care of this, Andreas."

Aw, crap.

Jim Gordon crossed his arms and glared at the basket as if it would explode. This thing was actually kind of heavy…would it kill him to let her put it down?

"What is this."

"A gift basket."

"Who is it for."

"Some guy named Edward Nygma."

"Did Cobblepot send you."

"Yes…"

"No."

Some Christmas spirit. Jerk. A cute jerk, maybe, but…nah, she couldn't see herself with a Scrooge.

She hefted the thing up and he stepped back in a hurry. She set it on a nearby desk, crushing several already-crumpled papers underneath. Oops.

"I'm pretty sure it's just a present."

"Why."

"Why should I know? I get jabbed with that umbrella for asking questions."

He switched gears and prodded one of the muffins.

"If you need to be in witness protection services…"

D'aww. Maybe she could coax out some of that dormant Christmas spirit, with enough movies and Christmas lights, and maybe a real tree instead of that crappy plastic one she had now.

"I just need to deliver this to Mr. Nygma. Personally, I might add, so if somebody could go get him or whatever, that'd be great."

"Why Ed."

What part of 'jabbed with umbrella for asking questions' did he not understand? God! She shrugged and looked at her nails.

"I don't know. The boss sent me with the gift basket, that's all I know."

He finally turned away and asked somebody to go get this Ed from…wherever he might be. She took a look around. The main GCPD building was old, like everything else in this town, and it was crumbling. Oh, it was clean enough, if a bit cluttered, but she could see old stains on the walls of the drunk tank.

After standing there in an awkward silence for about five minutes, a rather flustered, bespectacled man appeared.

"You wanted to see me, Detective?"

Gordon jerked his thumb in her direction.

"This young woman has a present for you."

Judging by the blush, the poor dear didn't have this happen very often-if ever. She was tempted to be a kiss-o-gram just to see if she could make him go from 'tomato' to 'fell in a volcano', but decided against it.

But that would probably be a combination of funny and adorable…one day, perhaps.

"My employ…I'm not going to bite him, you know. You can go back to work."

Gordon gave her one last glower-oh, he just shouldn't do that, it might stick and ruin that handsome face-before retreating to his desk. He was still watching them, though, apparently prepared to tackle her if something should happen to the guy in front of her.

"Ma'm?"

Oh, he had manners! That was a nice surprise.

"My employer sent you this." She taps the basket.

"Employer?"

"Oswald Cobblepot."

"I don't know him."

Well. That made this slightly creepy.

"You probably will, hon." she told him. "And just between us…I'd be wary of those muffins."

"Um, thank you. I think." He looked rather frightened, and on impulse she leaned over the desk and gave him a quick, firm, peck on the lips. _That_ got him to turn volcano-coloured.

Why did all the sweet ones have to be working for the damn coppers?

"Sure."

THE END


	7. Snitch

AN: FUN FACT: there is a species of penguin that is sometimes known as the 'fairy penguin'. It is blue and stands 12-16 inches high. Can you imagine how cute they must be when they're mad?

NEXT WEEK: what was with Ed's present? Tune in to find out! Same Bat-time, same Bat-channel!

**Tando**-I'm not too worried about him. I'd worry about Barbara...but she bugs me, so I wouldn't be upset if Zsasz popped round for a cup of tea and a murder. Speaking of Zsasz...he seems the type to have a little disco ball in his car.

**SwordStitcher**-You make him do it. Bullock hates me now-I may or may not have splattered him with pumpkin before dosing him with fear toxin. Oops. :/

**Olivia Cobblepot**-More on the lines of 'brainy is the new sexy'...but the brainy ones always seem to be absolutely insane, with a side of evil. Something about heroics calls to the brawn. With the exception of Holmes and Pendergast, of course.

* * *

><p>"I have summoned you all here today because, regrettably, we have a snitch in our midst."<p>

He leans on his umbrella, surveying the motley lot on the dock in front of him. It's cold and wet out here and Dove wishes he'd get on with it already. Besides, it reeks of fish.

"Miss Marquis?"

She's sorry about this, truly she is, but it's either rat the poor soul out or be screwed.

She jabs her finger towards the man on the far right. The look he gives her is beyond scathing, and a second later he cries out, "No! No, no! It's her, she told us how she was gonna poison you-"

'Be quiet, Mister Mash." Cobblepot hisses. "Miss Marquis knows better than that. Don't you, little Dove?"

She hates it when he calls her that. It always bodes ill.

"Y-yes, sir."

He drapes one arm around her shoulders and she cringes. She can't help it. His hand grips her upper arm and he begins to walk her towards the edge of the dock.

"She knows that if she were to play the Brutus to my Caesar, she would end up as Ophelia."

She'll never be able to enjoy Shakespeare again.

He abruptly turns her away from the edge and begins waddling down the line, towards the unfortunate Mash. She breathes a little easier. Now, if only he'd take his arm off her…

"I can't afford to have a snitch." he continues. "It will jeopardise everything and _everyone_ will pay the price."

She's beginning to cramp, although whether it's from terror or from being forced to walk like this is unknown.

Help.

"So, Mister Mash…was it truly you? Did you actually go to Major Crimes about this last affair?"

Mash neither confirms nor denies. He just points at Dove and spits out, "She said she was gonna poison your coffee, boss."

She tries to muster up a stony glare, but the arm on her shoulders is immensely distracting.

Cobblepot laughs, removes his arm, and pats Mash on the shoulder. Mash begins laughing too, but his eyes are still a little wider than usual.

He's still laughing when the knife slices across his throat.

"Dispose of him, please, gentlemen. Miss Marquis, I have an appointment with Don Maroni."

"Yes, sir."

She's not sure if she should be flattered that he believed her so easily or terrified that he'll do the same to her on somebody else's say-so. No matter.

He opens the car door for her-his mother may be a nut, but she raised him well enough. Apart from the insanity, of course. She starts the car and waits for him to get somewhat situated before hitting the gas.

"Don't speed, please."

Seriously? He's going to be fussy about _traffic laws_? God.

"Yes, sir." she grumbles, easing back down to a reasonable speed. It's still five miles over the speed limit, but he doesn't seem to notice.

"M-Mr. Cobblepot?"

"What."

"D-did you really think it was Mash?"

"I knew it was Mash."

He made her get him drunk and flirt with him for nothing? She called bull on that…but privately.

"Ah."

He reclines the seat, rests his umbrella next to the door, and closes his eyes. She likes him better when he's laid out like that. She has a better chance of seeing him go for a knife.

"Fourth is undergoing construction."

"Take Sixth. Try not to hit any shopping carts this time."

She

She's only hit _one_, and that was because some homeless guy left it in the middle of the road. _God._

She wants to turn on the radio, but he doesn't like her taste in music and she doesn't want to upset his good mood. She settles for drumming on the steering wheel while they're at a stop light, at least until he tells her to _cease immediately_.

"Here we are, boss. Want me to open the door?"

He gives her a dark look and she snaps her mouth shut.

"This shouldn't take very long. Just park somewhere and stay in the car."

She waits until he's out of the car and walking away before flipping him the bird and going to park the car. If she hurries, she might be able to run into a nearby coffee shop to get Mash's blood off her neck.

THE END


	8. Present, Pt 2

AN: Sorry, Ed. I love you, I promise, but…well…you're just so much fun to torment.

NEXT WEEK: *dramatic music* what's up with Ed? Find out-same Bat-time, same Bat-channel!

**SwordStitcher**-Yeah. It wasn't entirely my fault! They made me do it. And then they made me kill some poor girl dressed as an 80's hooker.

**Tando-**They probably will, soon enough. Maybe he'll drop some Iago quotes at some point-it would certainly suit his relationship with...everybody, now that I think about it.

* * *

><p>Dove had been watching TV, minding her own damn business-a weekend without Cobblepot was the best weekend ever-when there was a knock on the door.<p>

Huh. She wasn't expecting anything. Probably the God Squad…

She opened the door, preparing to spout a big fat lie about going to Church three times a week and twice on Sundays, and stopped dead with her mouth hanging open.

"Hello, Detective." She leaned against the door, wishing she was wearing something, _anything_ besides the ripped jeans and the Hello Kitty t-shirt. "What brings you here?"

"Dove Marquis?"

"You know who I am." she grumbled. "Isn't it a bit late to be dropping by strange women's apartments? What would your fiancée say?"

James Gordon glowered at her and spat out, "Where is Oswald Cobblepot."

"Why should I know?"

"I'm taking you in for questioning."

"What did I do?" she squeaked. "I haven't killed anyone, stolen anything, or attacked someone with a baseball bat. And Cobblepot isn't going to bail me out of jail, so your plan bites."

"You can either cooperate and come home as soon as possible, or I can detain you for disorderly conduct."

Fine. She'd go. But she wouldn't have to like it.

* * *

><p>"Hey, Dove."<p>

"Hi, Harvey."

Gordon looked from one to the other, confusion written all over his face.

"You two know each other?"

"He's bitched me out for working downtown." she said brightly. "And then come crawling back with apologies and Starbucks when he needs information."

Gordon gave Harvey Bullock an exasperated stare.

"You bring her Starbucks and not me?"

"I drop yours a lot, sorry."

Maybe one day she would bring Gordon Starbucks. But not if he dragged her away from the shopping channel again.

"Why am I here."

"Where is Oswald Cobblepot."

"Why the hell should I know? I avoid him when I'm not working. He freaks me out."

God. What did they think she was, his mother? His girlfriend? If they thought she was his girlfriend, she was going to be sick.

"When did you last see him?"

She bit her lip, considered lying, and remembered the round bruise on her ribcage from that umbrella.

"Yesterday, at six PM."

Bullock settled into a chair across from her and leaned over. He looked haggard and she wondered what exactly was going on.

"Where was he?"

"My apartment. We had business to discuss…don't give me that look, Harvey, I'm retired."

The cheap light bulb began to flicker and Gordon reached up and tapped it. The flickering ceased, but it was still making a low buzzing noise.

"Look, if you hang around my apartment long enough, he'll show up. Like it matters. Last I heard, you boys had to play nice with the mob."

"She's got a point."

"Ed's in the hospital."

"He's got a point."

"Wait, what?"

Gordon slumped against the wall.

"Ed Nygma is in the hospital, thanks to Cobblepot's Christmas present."

Well. That was unfortunate. She'd have to send him a get-well card. Maybe with a real kiss-o-gram this time, one that danced and sang a stupid song.

"I told him not to eat the muffins."

"It wasn't the muffins."

What else had been in there? Just a card, if she remembered right. Unless there had been something at the bottom that she hadn't noticed.

She shrugged, tried to rock the chair back, and found it bolted to the floor. Great. It was uncomfortable _and_ bolted to the floor. Hadn't they moved past the days of medieval torture?

"Okay, then, so what was it?"

"There was something in the card. Some kind of poison."

Ouch. Anthrax?

Wait.

That bastard had exposed her to Anthrax? What the hell!

Just for that, she was tempted to rat his ass out to Fish, just to teach him a lesson. She wouldn't, but she was tempted.

She leaned over the cold, metal table.

"What was it?"

"We don't know."

Well, at least it wasn't Anthrax.

"Look. He's bound to pop up at my apartment sooner or later. Just hang out nearby and see for yourself."

"You're certain that you don't know where he is?"

"Yes."

She knew where he might be, but since she'd been dragged down here, handcuffed to the world's most uncomfortable chair, and had her request for a lousy shock blanket-hey, it was cold in here!-denied, well…

Too. Fucking. Bad.

Bullock uncuffed her and reached up to tug on the light chain. She was almost out the door when she heard Gordon tell him, "You owe me a Starbucks for this."

THE END


	9. Bonsai

AN: Mild spoilers for the trailer of 'Rogues Gallery'. If those even count-anybody can watch the trailers. *snickers* Poor Oswald. Clobbered, in prison…and sharing a cell with a dunderhead. Silly Harvey, don't you know that Penguin has no soul? Or if he does, it's black and useless anyway.

**Olivia Cobblepot**-I've poisoned him before. Dr. Crane has yet to miss a chance...besides, he's so adorable. I can't help myself.

**Tando**-That arc decided it was going to be long. I tried to tell it to hurry up and it told me to shut up and write already. And poor Gordon...his long-suffering-ness has only just begun.

* * *

><p>"Miss Marquis."<p>

Jesus-! One of these days he'd do that and she'd have a heart attack.

She took a few seconds to get her breathing back to normal before setting down her purse and turning to face him again.

He looked awful. He had a black eye and a bruised chin, and the way he was sitting suggested further bruising. She was rather annoyed that somebody else had given him the black eye. He didn't have his umbrella, either-it was probably broken. Strange as it was to see him without it, she couldn't say that she was sorry.

"Hello, Mr. Cobblepot."

"I must ask you-understand this is very important, I wouldn't bother if it weren't…"

"Okay."

"Do you know what a bonsai tree is?"

What kind of question was that? Maybe he had a concussion along with everything else.

"Sir?"

"Answer the question."

"Yes, I know what it is."

"Good."

"Sir, are you feeling okay?"

"Fine. This is nothing, just a minor setback. I had to ask."

"Right."

"I wonder if I could trouble you for some ice."

She was out, and she was tempted to tell him so, but he looked pathetic. And pissed. The last time he'd looked pathetic and pissed, some guy had found a knife in his abdomen.

"Would a pack of frozen peas do?"

THE END


	10. Present, Pt 3

AN: To head off any confusion, this whole 'story' is just a collection of one-shots. They can take place pre-series, post-series, or mid-series. Some of them may be connected, but most of them are not. And Dove now hates me, by the way.

**Damn right, bitch. You never do this kind of crap to Kitty.** Kitty's more murderous than you. **That's not fair! You wrote me with a conscience and punish me for it?** I could make him fall in love with you, so be quiet. **You monster. **You know, I get that a lot... **Gee, wonder why.**

NEXT WEEK: what sort of game is Oswald playing? Same Bat-time, same Bat-channel!

**Tando**-Does it? Not remembering...should probably rewatch that episode. And no, he does know what it is. If Dove didn't, she'd be fired. Or worse. Probably worse, actually.

**Olivia Cobblepot**-I know better than to do that. I'd either get writer's block or killer nightmares! And thank you, I try. He's not being particularly cooperative, though...

* * *

><p>Ed remembered what it felt like to be punched in the stomach. First, the futile tightening of the muscles as the fist-usually a meaty fist with hard knuckles-connected. Then the sudden breathlessness, followed by brief, yet rather agonising, pain.<p>

This was worse.

He'd been waiting for there to be news on the muffins-he could have checked them himself, but they'd been whisked away before he had the chance-and decided to open the card. Cobblepot…Cobblepot was the weird guy that had strolled in not so very long ago, right? The one with the bad hair?

He'd opened the envelope with gloves, in case of poisoned paper cuts, and then opened the card. It hadn't been special, just a generic 'season's greetings'. A fine dust had sprung from the interior and he had inhaled it.

Half an hour later, he'd thrown up, staggered upstairs to request the rest of the day off, and passed out colder than the bodies in the morgue freezer.

And now he was here, in a hospital that smelled of death and chemicals, hooked up to an IV and wishing he had a measly kid's crossword puzzle to do.

* * *

><p>For once in her life, Dove was glad to see Cobblepot sitting in her apartment. How he'd gotten past the detectives was another matter.<p>

He'd probably killed them.

"Boss? I think you might be a person of interest."

He cocked his head and folded his hands atop his umbrella.

"Is that so?"

"Ed Nygma's in the hospital and they want to talk to you."

"And how, pray tell, do you know this?"

Aw, crap. She hadn't quite come up with a convincing story yet.

"They might have taken me in for questioning?"

"They did or they did not. Which was it?"

What the hell was he, some kind of evil Yoda?

No. Too tall and not green enough. And scarier, definitely scarier.

"They did."

_Please don't kill me please don't kill me please and thank you._

"And what did you talk about?"

"They wanted to know where you were, and I said I didn't know, but they might be kinda sorta staking out my apartment now."

"Good."

She wasn't in trouble?

"I have a job for you."

Again?

"Sir?"

"Pay Mr. Nygma a little visit."

First of all, why? Second of all, how?

Oh, never mind. She'd find a way. It was easier than dealing with a grouchy Cobblepot.

She shrugged her jacket back on and picked up her purse.

"Um, boss?"

"Yes, Miss Marquis?" He stood up and limped over to her. "Do you have a question?"

"No, sir."

"Good. Run along, now."

She could feel his eyes burning into her back long after she was on the sidewalk.

* * *

><p>She was halfway there when she got hungry. While digging through her purse for a couple of dollars, she found an envelope addressed to Ed Nygma.<p>

Oh, dear god, Cobblepot had been in her purse. She would never be able to use this purse again. Was it washable? Maybe she could fix it if it was washable.

Never mind. She wasn't hungry now.

_Talk about a diet plan…_

The ride there was mostly uneventful-it was nice having the car to herself, and she only saw one person get dragged into an alley-but all too soon she was outside Gotham General, straightening out her lie.

Hopefully Nygma was sleeping. Then she could go in, leave the envelope, and be telling the complete truth when she said, 'yeah, he couldn't really talk'.

It was busy in here and she almost got run over by some guy carrying a Ziploc containing…severed fingers.

How nice.

"Hi, I'm here to see Edward Nygma."

"Who are you."

"His girlfriend."

Hopefully that came out more confident than she felt. The receptionist, an old crone with a glass eye, apparently didn't care. Ah, Gotham.

"Room three-eighteen."

That wasn't so bad. It was a good thing she wasn't an assassin. Like it mattered-professionals like Zsasz would just stroll in whether they were allowed or not.

_Does Zsasz really shave his eyebrows?_

Nygma was not asleep, more was the pity, and he took one look at her and went cherry-coloured.

"M-Miss Marquis."

"I sort of lied to get in here. Just go with it if they ask questions."

He looked like crap. Hopefully he'd gotten the antidote to…whatever it was.

"Mr. Cobblepot sent you a sympathy card or something. Here." She dropped it on the table and pulled up the cheap plastic chair.

"Um…"

"What's wrong with you, anyway?"

He straightened up a bit and spoke to the IV rather than to her.

"The bold and the dead journey into me. What am I?"

Riddles? Oh, come on! She was the world's worst at riddles!

"I don't know."

"Not even a guess?"

"The ground?"

"The unknown."

Oh.

"They don't know."

"No."

Great. So there was some lunatic manufacturing a new poison. How nice.

Maybe if she moved to Canada and changed her name, Cobblepot wouldn't find her.

"I'm sorry."

"Why are you here?"

She shrugged and wondered if she'd stayed long enough.

"I don't know." she admitted. "I'm gonna go, though. Um…sorry my boss is a homicidal maniac."

If he had a reply, it was forgotten when the alarm rang out and a mechanical voice announced, "EMERGENCY ALERT. EMERGENCY ALERT. INITIATE LOCKDOWN."

She should never have gotten out of bed this morning.

THE END


	11. Nap

AN: **Why do you do this to me. **Because I can. **You gave me freckles! FRECKLES! Do you have any idea how much I hate them? **Yeah. **I hate my life.**

**Faith-** Oh, good, someone else thinks they're in-character. I'm always paranoid that they've veered off without telling me. It would be just like them to do that. Now that I think about it, that sounds like something I'd do, if I were fictional. Just because I could, of course.

**Olivia Cobblepot**- **Yes! But I told Kitty that and she just gave me this look and said, 'You've never been to Arkham.' Yeah, sure, but the last time I saw Crane he practically offered to buy me because he liked the pitch of my scream. (Shut up, he startled me.)**

* * *

><p>She's minding her own business, just waiting for the guy to show up-how dare he be late, it's cold and this is awkward and she's been sitting here for four hours already!-when there's a sudden weight on her left shoulder.<p>

She inspects the black hair that has now invaded her vision and wonders if she should put him back or just leave him alone. She really _wants_ to put him back, but she doesn't want to wake him up, either.

She settles for going stock-still and staring straight ahead in an effort to pretend that he's not here.

_Oh, look, a puppy. And…um…flowers. Yes. Pretty._

_GOD DAMMIT, WHY DID THIS HAPPEN TO ME?_

After another half hour-their guy's probably been knifed in an alley-her shoulder's starting to hurt and the rest of her body is stiff from trying not to move. He's got to move, this is ridiculous. She'd love to just shove him off, but he might take offense. No, this has to be handled with care. Like playing Operation.

She bites her lip and eases her hands around his shoulders. Okay, easy does it, slowly, slowly…

He twitches a little bit and she snatches her hands back. Is he waking up? Is he even asleep, or is this some kind of weird test?

He seems to be asleep. Good. Okay. She'll try again.

She's about to prop him up when he moves again and mumbles something about umbrellas. _Fine._ She gives up. He can stay there.

But hopefully he'll get up soon.

After what feels like fifteen minutes but is probably more like two, he sits up and straightens himself out without so much as a, 'sorry for any inconvenience, Miss Marquis.'

"He's late."

"Probably got knifed in an alley." Can they go now? "Maybe we should reschedule."

"There won't be any rescheduling."

That doesn't sound good.

"Sir?"

"Come along. If he won't come to us, we will go to him."

"How."

"I know his address." She doesn't want to know how he knows that. "This shouldn't take long now."

This is terrible, but she hopes it _does_ take long. It would serve the jerk right for everything she's been through this evening.

THE END


	12. Present, Pt 4

AN: I know. Nothing exciting. I'm dying, forgive me. **Serves you right for putting me in hospital lockdown.** In my feverish delusions, I'm thinking of writing a Dove/Oswald lemon… **Tell me you're kidding.** Be nice to me and I will. **You said you'd never write a lemon.** There's a first time for everything.

NEXT WEEK: No fucking clue, because…I'm dying. Go listen to Clockwork Quartet and ask me later.

Olivia Cobblepot-**I would. Gotham bites. **Quit throwing a fit. **Go back to bed, you're getting your germs everywhere.**

* * *

><p>Oswald found Gordon and Bullock seated at an outdoor café across the street from Dove's apartment. He'd seen them on the way in and resisted the urge to pop over and give them his well wishes, but now…<p>

He sauntered across the street and settled down at the table across from them.

"Hello, James."

The reaction was sudden and disappointingly violent.

"You." Gordon hissed. "You are under arrested for the attempted murder of-"

"Attempted?" He brought the umbrella up and gently pushed Gordon's arm out his face. "No, no. It's only a matter of time-if, of course, you drag me to jail like a common criminal."

"You are a common criminal, Cobblepot." Bullock said darkly. Cretin.

"You are tragically mistaken, Detective." He reached over and grabbed one of the little crackers from their table. "May I?"

"What do you want."

"To do a public service!" He snapped up the cracker in two bites and brushed the crumbs from his suit. "Your Mr. Nygma is suffering from a new poison, the effects of which have never been seen before. I can get you a sample."

"What's in it for you."

"Later." Favours went so much farther than money. "We'll discuss my terms when we have the time. But time, gentlemen, is limited."

"What do you mean?"

"In approximately two hours, the next set of symptoms will appear. The damage will be irreversible in approximately nine hours. You may either take me to jail or accept my offer." He grabbed another cracker, gobbled it down-it must have been longer than he realised since he'd eaten-and leaned forward. "Which will it be?"

**RRRRIIINNG!**

"Bullock. Shit. Really?"

Bullock clapped the phone shut and stood up.

"We have a problem at Gotham General."

This could be interesting.

"What's going on?"

It was time to make his exit.

"Do consider my offer, gentlemen. Farewell."

Bullock reached over and grabbed his wrist.

"Oh, no. You're not going out of my sight, Penguin."

As the handcuff clapped around his wrist, he wondered how long it would take Bullock to dissolve in a vat of acid.

THE END


	13. Present, Pt 5

AN: Gotham's crosswords are morbid.

NEXT WEEK: Will this be the end for our…erm…heroes? Same Bat-time, same Bat-channel!

Guest-**Easy for you to say, he doesn't break into YOUR apartment.**

* * *

><p>"Dammit!" Dove rubbed her scalp. "This just isn't fair! Every time he sends me on an errand, shit happens!"<p>

Nygma just lay there, looking at the IV sticking out of his hand.

"It's probably another mob hit. It'll be over soon."

"I don't care what it is! God, this city's filled with freaks and psychos…"

"I think perhaps you should lock the door."

Gunfire rang out and she found herself thinking the same thing.

"It'll be fine." she said, having to raise her voice to be heard over the screaming outside. "You're right. Just another mob hit. They'll be gone in a few minutes."

Funny, though. She'd thought both crime families had more manners than to kill a person in the hospital. Weren't they supposed to wait until the poor bastard was out on the street?

Eh, whatever. As long as they hurried up.

She couldn't lock the door-she would have expected better from a Gotham hospital-and she ended up dragging the visitor's chairs over in front of it. There. Perfectly safe.

"There, see?" She gave him what she hoped was a reassuring grin. "All safe. We'll just wait it out."

He sneezed, winced, and pointed to the newspaper in her purse.

"May I have the crossword?"

"Sure. I might have a pen."

"Thank you."

She rearranged the chairs so that the knob couldn't turn, realised she now had nowhere to sit, and ended up sitting cross-legged on the cold floor in front of them.

"Here's one for you. A six-letter word for 'kill'."

"Very funny. Murder." There, she'd gotten it right.

He didn't say anything and she got up.

"Murder. That's the answer, isn't it?"

"You might want to turn around."

"Why?" Maybe Cobblepot had finally turned up. She wasn't about to move the chairs if he had.

She turned around, quite prepared to lie about the door being stuck, and felt the words crawl right back down her throat.

Standing on the other side of the door was a…well, she was pretty sure it was a big man with a bad skin condition. But more interesting than that was his teeth. He'd filled them down to sharp points and there were bits of ragged flesh stuck between them.

And he was pressed right up against the glass, grinning at her.

THE END


	14. In a Dark Room

AN: In honour of the upcoming episodes, this. Takes place in the far future. Batman is a thing now. Crane is mostly Nolanverse, (meaning it is _Jonathan_ Crane, not _Gerald_ Crane) with a touch of his other incarnations, as well as my own…personal touch…for flavour.

Apollo Holmes-Well, I've taken a few liberties with our cannibal...you'll see. And quite simple: Oswald will not poison Jim, and poisoning another _cop_ is just too risky. The mob might not like it. Ed, unfortunately, is an easy target-the mob and other police won't care too terribly much, but someone (namely Jim) is bound to take notice of the odd symptoms, which would not be the case if he sent a poison card to some random guy off the street.

* * *

><p>She hadn't wanted to go down there. She'd begged him to send somebody else, or at least not to send her alone. Eventually they'd come to an agreement-she'd shut up and go, and he wouldn't send her with a note stating that he was tired of her. Perfectly reasonable.<p>

So now here she was, at the top of the basement steps, clutching a thick envelope that she knew

_hoped_

contained an invitation to the Iceberg to discuss business arrangements.

It was pitch black down there and she wondered if maybe he wasn't home. Maybe he'd gotten arrested. Or maybe he was out.

God, she hoped he was out.

"Doctor Crane?" She began inching her way down the stairs, hoping he didn't have them rigged. The Riddler rigged his staircases and the last time she'd paid him a visit she'd gotten a-literal-shock. "Oswald Cobblepot sent me…"

Someone was breathing down there, panicked little hic-hic-hic gasps that reminded her of her first grade bestie, who had died of an asthma attack.

"Doctor Crane?"

Surely her eyes should be adjusting to the light by now.

She reached the foot of the stairs and the door slammed shut.

"Good afternoon, child."

She squeaked and turned, frantically trying to pinpoint the source of the voice. A low, raspy chuckle came from the darkness and she heard something moving, slipping through the shadows towards her.

"D-Doctor Crane?"

_Click!_

A weak light bulb came on. She still didn't see him, but she could see the source of the gasping-a man was tied to a chair, a gag stuffed in his mouth. He seemed to be unconscious.

The rest of the room was filled with test tubes and plastic containers-at least one of them had a tarantula in it-and there was a badly-damaged skull, with bits gouged out of it, on a peeling bookshelf. She shuddered and looked away.

"Cobblepot warned me you'd be by." the voice whispered. "Step into the **_light_**."

She shuffled forward.

"Ah, **_there_** you are." He sounded pleased. "Quite a pair of lungs on you, I gather. I wonder when he'll tire of you…"

The light glinted off of something, and it took her a moment to realise it was his glasses. Once that hit her, she could make out the rest of him, standing just outside the circle of light.

"You're frightened."

There was no point in denying it. Depending on who you asked, he could either read minds or smell fear.

"Yes."

"Tell me…what do you think of my laboratory?"

"It's…um…"

The man in the chair suddenly jerked it over. The sudden noise made her shriek, provoking horrible cawing laughter from the man in front of her. Just as suddenly as it had begun, it stopped and his shadowy form straightened up, adjusting his glasses with long, thin fingers.

_Perfect for wrapping around somebody's throat…_

"I see." He stepped forward and held out his hand. "I believe you have something for me?"

"Y-yes."

"Bring it here."

And get in grabbing range?

They stood there, a few feet apart, before she reached out-

-and dropped the letter before sprinting towards the stairs. The light went out just as she reached the halfway mark and she stopped.

"I see no reason why I should let you **_go_**." he hissed. She was pretty sure he was still down there, but… "This is Gotham. You could just as easily meet a mugger on the way back."

She gripped the rickety railing and began making her way up, wishing the stairs didn't creak.

"You've got six more steps before you reach the door, and that's presuming it isn't **_locked_**."

If it was locked, she was hurling herself down and hoping for a broken neck. Broken necks were preferable to…_that_.

She said nothing. Five steps…four steps…three steps…

"I wonder…what keeps you awake at night, child? What makes you sit up in bed, fumbling for the light switch to chase away the monsters?"

Doorknob! She gripped it, twisted it, and pushed.

For one horrible minute the door stuck but then it flung open, flooding the top of the stairs with light. She stumbled out into the hall, her legs shaking and his crow-like cackles echoing in her ears.

She couldn't get out of there fast enough.

THE END


End file.
